The Little Things
by krshsy
Summary: A collection of one-shots/stories about how little things (or instances) bring Sherlock and Watson closer together.
1. Trunk of Cold Cases

**A/N:** This was supposed to be a Joanlock one-shot about Sherlock's trunk of cold cases after the episode An Unnatural Arrangement (S02E06). I decided to make it a collection of short fics for fun. Let me guys know what you think of it!

**Disclaimer:** As usual, you guys know how this goes.

* * *

**Trunk of Cold Cases **

_- Sherlock's thoughts about partnership._

* * *

Sherlock moved a couple of dusty old boxes aside as he was looking for his least favorite furniture in the brownstone. For something he clearly loathed as it reminded him of his failures and limitations as a 'deductionist', he was clearly a masochist for even looking for the damned thing. But then, he dismissed the thoughts. He was doing this for Watson. For his partner.

The way Watson looked at him when he finished the case Basken gave them bothered him. She stormed in with accusing eyes and she looked betrayed. After solving numerous cases with Watson, Sherlock started to warm up to the idea that he now, has to share his deductions, his skills and the cases with a partner. He already adjusted to the thought that he has a partner to consult with as well. Apparently he still had a lot to learn.

He was stuck with the current case they were working on when he saw the file lying in the kitchen table. He forgot he was supposed to get himself some tea to soothe his mind and looked into the file instead. It only took him around half an hour to solve the case. It was pretty elementary. It was only a series of robberies involving food carts after all. So after solving the case, he emailed and informed Detective 'not Bell' of the breakthrough he had with the said case.

Consequently he was really startled when Watson charged at him in the precinct briefing room demanding an explanation as to why he solved _her_ case. Right then and there he explained how partners were supposed to work _together, _that there were no 'his' or 'hers', but their argument was cut off by Detective Bell for a lead in their case. Their discussion however, continued in the brownstone where Watson demanded equality in their work. Suffice to say, he was a bit perplexed that even Watson would think that way after her endless tirades of sharing things together when she was still his sober companion.

But then Watson followed up her argument that she wants to be 'useful' for once. That she wants to be up to par with Sherlock even just a bit when it comes to solving cases. She wants to hone her skills and prove her capabilities by solving cases independently. At the very least, he never thought of it that way. Watson was clearly good at her job even when she was still a sober companion, she has been very helpful to his work. Hell, she even improves Sherlock's work and person. He still clearly remembers the moment he confessed to Watson that he was better with her and he meant every single word.

Still, Watson wasn't wrong about her argument as well that Sherlock has more experience than her. So that's how Sherlock ended up in this dusty, cramped space he calls an attic. He was still rummaging through boxes when he spotted the familiar trunk.

"And the trunk is gonna help me how?" Watson asked, doubt washing over her face as Sherlock presented the old trunk to her.

"Inside, you will find files on several cold cases. _My_ cold cases. They are the handful of mysteries in my entire career which have eluded my powers of deduction." Frustrating as to how that sounded, it was true. Sherlock have utilized countless hours just trying to solve the cases inside the trunk, but he has his limitations.

"So the next time you wish to hone your skills on a solo venture, I encourage you to peruse them," he continued, "I've already given them my all. So there's little risk that I will arrive at a solution before you. You might even succeed where I have failed." And there it was. He was giving Watson the unofficial pass to prove herself to be better than him. The very Sherlock Holmes who, with great confidence, declared that he was smarter than everyone else he knows.

After his little speech, he wasn't surprised when Watson received the case with genuine gratitude albeit with a slightest hint of confusion.

"Thanks." She said. At that moment, Sherlock realized that he did the right thing. Seeing that he had made things right with Watson made him feel content and at ease.

Once their case was solved, he had a little 'talk' with Captain Gregson about not giving up in his marriage. Ironic, that even he considered giving advice about marriage but Sherlock wasn't even sure what made him say that. He just realized that a thing like marriage isn't trivial as much as he would like to think it is. It has something more to it, far more intricate that he ever had imagined. Just like partnership.

As Sherlock went home that night, he saw Watson open his trunk and could read from her posture that she was delighted. He still had a lot to think and consider about this partnership thing in order to properly make it work with Watson. They're partners after all.

After a couple of days, the consulting work has toned down. Sherlock spent his time picking locks and doing his memory exercise. He was in the middle of memorizing a line from a Quentin Tarantino movie while trying hard not to forget several facts from a documentary about penguins when Watson burst into the room.

"I solved a case!" Sherlock looked up to see a very excited Watson. "Meet me downstairs and I'll present my findings." She went out the room and her footsteps echoed down the hall. He sighed and turned off all of the telly. Sherlock isn't exactly fond of being bested at what he does, but after seeing Watson's face as she exclaimed that she solved one of his cold cases, he's considering an exception. After all, as long as Watson is happy, everything else is well.


	2. Whistles Aren't Just For Taxis

**A/N:** Here's chapter 2! Sorry for making it a bit long. My mind went off again (as usual).

**Whistles Aren't Just For Taxis**

* * *

"I hate to say I told you so but," Sherlock wasn't able to finish his statement as Watson glared at him. He shrugged. "I did warn you not to frolic in the rain while you have colds."

"I wasn't frolicking in the rain." Watson said in a weak, raspy voice. "I was looking for evidence." Her last statement was followed by a horrible coughing fit.

"Yes and look what it got you. Your colds upgraded to a full blown fever and you have a sore throat as a cherry on top." Sherlock said.

"Well thank you for pointing it out captain obvious." Watson said sourly.

"My, my, aren't we a bit touchy today Watson?" Sherlock teased.

Watson rolled her eyes. "Just hail a taxi cab so we can go home. I feel horrible." She realized her mistake a little too late as Sherlock already got hold of his whistle and blew it loudly. Not a second later, a yellow cab pulled up beside them.

"Well, what do you know Watson? My whistle didn't fail me today." Sherlock remarked as they sat at the back. Watson murmured her response. It was starting to get cold and Watson was pretty irritable when she's sick. It's normal for her to get grumpy when she's ill. She was an ex-surgeon after all.

* * *

It was raining when they were called in to investigate a case in the Upper East Side. It was a murder of one of New York's known socialites. It was apparent that theft was also involved and that the victim fought back with the suspect considering the state of disarray of the expensive hotel suite. They were hoping to find the murder weapon in the suite.

"Watson, it isn't wise to go out there. You're feeling under the weather." Sherlock called out when Watson wandered off outside the terrace.

"I'll just be a minute." she heard Sherlock's grumbling as a response. Watson was just having a mild cold. She'll just have some decongestants when she gets home. As she surveyed the terrace filled with shattered glass shards from the sliding doors, she saw a glass shard that had more volume of blood than necessary, the raindrops almost washing the blood away. "Sherlock!" she called out. When Sherlock went to the terrace, he shoved her back inside.

"Hey! That was rude." She complained as she stumbled near the couch. But she was ignored as Sherlock shouted, "Captain! I believe Miss Watson has found you the murder weapon!"

After that incident, Watson's cold got worse. She took some decongestants but to no avail. She woke up the next day feeling weak and sore. Her cold broke out into a high fever and she can't talk properly without her throat aching.

* * *

The cab dropped them off in front of the brownstone. Sherlock got out and held an umbrella for Watson as it started to drizzle. He would have made tea for Watson - the one she made for him when he was sick - but the herbs weren't available when he went to China town.

"Watson, it wasn't necessary for you to go to the precinct today with me. I can just bring home the files for you." Sherlock scolded her.

She gave him a smirk. "But I'll be bored if I only stayed here. And I recall someone telling me, boredom is more distressing than any sickness."

If Sherlock knew that he was this stubborn when he was sick, he would have strangled himself.

"As much as I appreciate you quoting me, your stubbornness isn't helping this whole ordeal. Go upstairs and rest." Watson just narrowed her eyes at him and with a 'hmph' went up to her room. Amidst Watson being sick, Sherlock can't help but break into a small smile at Watson's childish behavior. He was always used to seeing the cool, concerned and nagging Watson. Seeing this side of her was helping him understand her better.

Watson, against Sherlock's advice to rest, spent most of the evening cuddled in the couch in the study room, helping Sherlock with the case. She was only able to put in a couple of contributions before Sherlock started to shoo her to her bedroom. Watson protested but Sherlock turned a deaf ear. Watson trudged off to her room sluggishly once again. She was about to sleep when Sherlock entered her room with a tray in his hands.

"I hope that isn't Clyde in the soup because I will decline your offer." Watson said pointedly, still obviously crossed with Sherlock for limiting her actions.

"Don't talk rubbish Watson, Clyde is safe in the desk drawer. I must say, your illness is making you crabby."

"I hate being sick." Watson ground out.

"I surmised as much." Sherlock muttered. "Here, have some soup. It should help." He was on his way out when he heard her utter the words "Thank you."

In the wee hours of the morning, Watson woke up after having a rough coughing fit. She reached over her bedside table for some water and found it half-full. She drank it all and tried to go back to sleep. Her body was too sore to go down and fetch some water. She would drink the water from the bathroom sink across the hall but Sherlock especially bought her some distilled water for 'health purposes'. But, it seemed that the odds weren't in her favor as another coughing fit ensued, forcing her to drink more. She groaned as she pulled herself up. She clutched on to the railings as she went down the stairs. The lights were still on in the study room but she can hear Sherlock's light snoring. She proceeded towards the kitchen and grabbed the water bottle at the top of the fridge. She took out her mug and tried to open the bottle but her grip was weak. She tried again but to her frustration, her arm hit her mug and crashed on the floor as she was gripping the bottle. The high pitched sound was still ringing in her ears when she saw Sherlock ran to the kitchen.

"Watson! What happened? What are you doing out of bed? My god, you look horrible."

"Thanks." She answered lamely.

"Why didn't you call for me? You didn't have to get out of bed. And why are your feet bare? You could get yourself cut and have an infection from the broken mug! Seriously." Sherlock reprimanded her.

"You were sleeping soundly and I was thirsty so I thought -" she was cut off by Sherlock as he took her by the arms and led her upstairs towards her bedroom.

"Rest." He ordered then he went out of her room. She didn't bother complaining this time. Her throat was starting to hurt again. Sherlock returned with a couple of water bottles and medicines. He helped Watson up and let her drink the water and the medicine. After a few beats of silence, Sherlock reached into his pocket and held his hand out to her. On his palm was the whistle he always used for hailing cabs. Watson raised an eyebrow for an explanation.

"Use this if you need anything else. I'll just be downstairs." He explained. Watson still looked skeptical. "It's better than calling out for me. No voice remember?" he gestured to her neck. When she didn't respond, he forced the whistle into her hand.

"Sleep now, Watson. Good night."

Not more than a couple of minutes, Sherlock heard Watson use the whistle. She must be having a hard time trying to sleep. He ran up the stairs.

"Anything you need?" he asked.

"Tea please." She rasped. Sherlock went out and returned with a pot of hot tea. Watson accepted the tray and nodded her thanks. He went down the stairs again and started reading the files instead for he was being restless. After a while, Watson blew the whistle again. When he went up to her room, she asked for some biscuits and so, he returned with a plate of them. Sherlock was already sensing a pattern when Watson blew the whistle yet again.

"What is it now?"

"You forgot to open the other water bottles. I have a weak grip." She said sheepishly. And he just sighed.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Sherlock asked Watson after she blew the whistle for the nth time.

"Can't say I'm not." She smiled. "You're on my beck and call. It's fun."

"Sadist." He said but he was smiling. "What do you need?"

"Arrange my pillows?" she asked with a yawn.

"I have created a monster." He palmed his face. But he arranged and fluffed the pillows nonetheless. "There, is it any better?"

"Yes." She said as she drifted to sleep. He decided to sit on the armchair in her room as he watched her. "Sorry for bothering you Sherlock." She mumbled. She's saying sorry? What she doesn't know is that he's willing to do anything to make her feel better. He walked towards her and moved the stray strands of hair away from her face. After a while, he took the whistle from the bedside table, pocketed it and sat back on the armchair.

"You know what? No need for whistles. I'll just stay here where it's closer."


	3. A Case of Mismatched Socks

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading and for the reviews guys! Sorry it took me a while to update this. (Our second semester has already started so go figure.) I'll do my best to update this story in a better pace though! Once again, my mind wandered around and it resulted into something this long. Hope you enjoy it! Also, if you have suggestions on what 'thing' or incident you want to be portrayed in the next chapters of the fic, let me know! It's good to have suggestions once in a while. :)

**Laundry Mishap: A Case of Mismatched Socks**

* * *

Watson was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth after being rudely awakened by Sherlock. As usual, he tossed her the clothes she's supposed to wear for the day, all the while informing her that she only has fifteen minutes to ready herself as another case awaited them. As she finished brushing her teeth, she headed to her room towards her dresser to look for some socks. When she did open her drawers, it seemed that there was only one pair of socks out of the several she owns.

She then went downstairs to meet Sherlock. He was eating cereal out of his mug in the study when Watson saw him.

"Oh good, you're ready." Sherlock said.

"Umm, no I'm not Sherlock." Watson replied.

"Then move faster Watson! A murder awaits us!" he said as he bounced on his feet then walk towards the door to put his shoes and coat on.

"But before that, just a quick question."

"Shoot."

"Why is it that you can't even do the laundry properly? I mean sure, I asked for a favor the other day that you pick up the laundry for me and I'll clean the fridge this month but where are the rest of my socks? And this pair I got from the drawer isn't even paired right!" she complained.

"Oh, that must explain why the other sock is shorter." Sherlock said as he looked and gestured to his left foot. "It's just a bit of mix-up Watson. Don't fret."

Sure enough, when Watson looked at the socks on her hand carefully, she can fully differentiate the socks. Both were adorned with a striped pattern with shades of violet but the other one was distinctly longer than the other. It was indeed Sherlock's. She vaguely remembered the time seeing it when he was wearing it while lying on the couch that one time.

"Okay so it's a case of mismatched socks."

"Yes, I was rather in a hurry when I was sorting out the laundry that day." Sherlock looked up when Watson didn't say anything.

"Well?" she asked.

"Are you seriously considering that I take it off? That's pretty unhygienic don't you think? Just use mine for the mean time. Besides, we're in a hurry. We're already a minute and forty seconds behind schedule." Sherlock said as he turned to the door. Watson put on the socks frustratingly. At least it was newly washed. She took her coat from the hook and walked towards the door Sherlock was holding open for her.

At the precinct, they were greeted by Captain Gregson and Detective Bell.

"Why meet us here and not at the crime scene?" Watson asked.

"There's no crime scene. Well, yet anyway. We just received a tip from our field detective that an old player whose specialty is murdering people off at Wall Street is getting back in his game." Captain Gregson filled them in.

"Really? Sherlock told me there was a murder." Watson said through gritted teeth.

"Oh don't be cross Watson. You clearly needed the motivation to move faster during your morning ministrations." Sherlock reasoned out.

Detective Bell shook his head at the two. This tension between them is starting to get old. They should just take care of it and be done with it. "Anyway, this tip will involve us perusing several files from a cold case as they are reportedly connected and are committed by one suspect."

"And why isn't he in jail?" Sherlock asked.

"We need more evidences. And it's hard to find incriminating evidences especially basing it off a cold case as well. That's why we called you in."

"Well what are we waiting for Watson? It's time to work!" Sherlock clapped his hands together in excitement.

They spent a total of eight hours in the case, scouting locations and looking for evidences and the case didn't felt like it moved at all.

"This suspect is clever with cleaning up his mess. At this point we won't be getting anywhere." Watson flailed her hands in exhaustion and Detective Bell agreed.

"Detective, if we can move this investigation from the briefing room to the brownstone, it would greatly help. I've worked on a case a bit similar to this back in London and I have some of the files at home."

By dinner time, they have changed their location to the study room in the brownstone. Sherlock was doing one of his weird 'thinking poses', lying at the couch with his feet up in the air.

"Aren't you uncomfortable with that position Holmes?" Bell asked.

"On contrary, it helps with my blood circulation. It makes me concentrate more." Sherlock replied and Bell just shrugged. It was Sherlock being normal.

They then heard the front door open and Bell went to the foyer to help Watson with the take-out bags she got with her.

"I hope you like Thai. The diner in the third block was closed." She said as she sat in the staircase steps to take off her shoes.

"Don't worry, after all the work we've done, I need all the food I can get." He said. Watson laughed as she stood up.

"Wait. I have a question." He asked as he saw something that caught his curiosity. Watson nodded.

"Are you and Sherlock a couple?" He directly asked.

Watson scoffed then laughed. "What made you ask that?"

"It seemed that you guys have are doing couple stuff. I mean, couple shirts I've heard about but couple socks? That's new." He teased, gesturing to Watson's feet.

"Oh these? It's just a coincidence that we have a somewhat identical pair." She said as she went to the kitchen.

"Really? Because I noticed that you guys didn't have the right pair, it's totally mismatched. You're wearing a sock from your pair and the other from Sherlock's pair. Then you guys decided to wear it on the same day nonetheless." Bell said as he followed Watson into the kitchen.

"How do you even know what kind of socks Sherlock is wearing right now?" Watson asked, hoping to divert Bell's attention.

"He's lying down on the couch with his feet up in the air, something about blood circulation. But anyway, out with it Watson. I knew you guys weren't just partners." He triumphantly stated.

"No, no. It was just a laundry mishap. I'm in-charge of laundry duty and Sherlock cleans the fridge. I told him to get the laundry for this week and - "

"And I mixed-up the socks while putting them in the drawers." Sherlock finished for Watson as he went in the kitchen. "Where's the food?"

Detective Bell observed the two consultants in their own house. They're far too domestic for two people who are supposed to be just partners. They moved in sync, enough for a person to think that it was a very normal thing for partners to live under one roof. He doesn't have any problems with their living arrangements per se but if he were to live with his partner, given, a female partner, he wouldn't be comfortable. But what Sherlock and Watson have was a dynamic that meant that they shared something more.

He kept giving Watson knowing looks and she would just roll her eyes. It was fun to tease Watson. She was like a sister to him and they have gotten closer after the case that involved him. All the more reason why he was positive that Watson cared for Sherlock more than a partner or a friend would. At one point, Sherlock has exclaimed that they were close in getting valuable evidences for the case; Bell decided it was time to go home.

"If it's no trouble, I'll borrow these files for a while." He said as he exited the study room. Watson said her goodbyes from the kitchen as she was washing the dishes and Sherlock saw him out.

"Miss Watson and I are not a couple, Detective Bell." Sherlock said as they reached the foyer.

"So I've heard." Bell said. "But denying your feelings won't help you get anywhere if you want to be more than partners."

"Since when did you become knowledgeable about relationships Detective?" Sherlock asked mockingly.

"I've had a few relationships to know. And after watching you guys discreetly care for each other, your feelings and emotions play openly in your faces, I must say, I know that there is something between you two far deeper than partnership. Don't you think it's high time to accept it?" he answered. When Sherlock said nothing, Detective Bell just smiled, thanked him and said good night then went on his way.

Detective Bell was confident with his observations. He wasn't a detective for nothing. They were just really stubborn and are very likely, limiting themselves not to take a risk. Because let's face it, even too much deductive work could make someone a fool.

And he knew he was right when he came to visit them the next week to return the files he borrowed. However, he didn't expect for Watson to answer the door wearing one of Sherlock's shirts.

"Woah, is that Holmes' shirt you're wearing?" he asked and Watson's expression gave her away. She seemed to forget she was even wearing a man's shirt. Detective Bell smiled. "Don't worry. Not judging here."

"Oh, no no. You misunderstood, it's Sherlock. He uh, forgot to get the laundry. So, I figured I'd borrow his shirt considering I'm out of clean clothes."

"Right, because I clearly remember you saying that Sherlock's chore involved cleaning the fridge." Detective Bell's smile grew wider. "Anyway, I just dropped by to give back the files I borrowed. They were really useful." Before Watson can answer to that, Sherlock came into the doorway.

"Good morning Detective Bell." Sherlock greeted. Detective Bell greeted the half-naked Sherlock in front of him.

"I take it you're out of clean laundry as well?" Detective Bell asked, secretly glad that his deductions were correct.

"Well. No. Just looking at Watson's attire should help you think otherwise. We were just doing a very couple-ish thing." Sherlock appeared to be in a chipper mood.

"Sherlock!" a blushing Watson exclaimed.

"What? You have a problem with that?" Sherlock was answered by Watson storming off inside, murmuring something about discreetness and co-workers. "Breakfast Detective Bell?" he asked Detective Bell who was now a bit embarrassed. He wasn't used to seeing his friends acting like this and especially not so early in the morning.

"I have to pass. I already ate." He said as he backed away from the brownstone's doorstep. "Besides I have some collecting to do."

As soon as Detective Bell reached the precinct, he was twenty dollars richer courtesy of Captain Gregson. He did make a bet with the captain last week that their favorite consultants will be a couple after all.


	4. Grocery Shopping

**A/N**: Hello guys! Once again, thank you for the reviews! It really makes me giddy whenever I read them. Sorry though that it took me a while to update this (I got a little bit busy in uni). Anyway, I tried doing the prompt suggested by elementarygeek but it ended up being a stand-alone fic as I had planned more than one chapter for that prompt (don't worry, I'll be posting it after I finish this series). So, I wrote this domestic-fluff piece instead. It was written a bit hurriedly but I hope you guys enjoy it.

**Grocery Shopping**

* * *

"Okay, this is how we'll do it, you handle the cart, and I'll go over the list." Watson instructed Sherlock as they entered the supermarket. Watson was used to doing grocery runs alone so she was quite surprised when Sherlock volunteered to tag along. He stated that he wanted to discern how people react to doing mundane chores but really, he was clearly bored.

"Do you have a system in doing the shopping Watson?" he asked as he peeked at her list. "You know what you should've done? Group the proper items based off on how they are placed in the store. Thinking that you have gone here to shop more than once, you should be familiar with how the store was mapped out. Grouping up the similar items would be efficient and help you not forget any item from your list. Plus, it saves time and you can skip the unnecessary aisles."

Watson looked down at her unorganized list. She was jotting down the items randomly as she was in a hurry. "I go through the aisles in ascending order and roam the store. That's pretty systematic for me. So if you don't mind, please push the cart and just observe." Really, Watson thought that only Sherlock would comment on such a trivial thing and make it complex.

As they walked through the store, Watson went through her list one by one and Sherlock was doing his thing - being Sherlock, over-analyzing and comparing grocery items. Watson was a bit annoyed of his hovering. He kept on putting things back on the shelf and replacing it with what he would call the 'better choice'. It wasn't as if the items Watson bought in her usual grocery run affected him but now he's meddling? When Watson asked him on what medium is he basing off his choices, he went on a tirade about nutrition facts, economically correct-priced goods and brand familiarity. She just silently shook her head as he yet again, replaced some items she got from the shelf. Of course grocery shopping would be different with Sherlock.

"Is that all of it?" Sherlock asked Watson as he pushed the push cart down the last aisle. Watson was reading the grocery list with squinted eyes as she went over through the items for the last time.

"Oh! I forgot Clyde's food." Watson walked briskly towards the vegetables section with Sherlock murmuring "I told you so."

As they reached the section, Watson briefly inspected the lettuce she got from the bunch and put it in the cart.

"You should not go for these kinds of lettuce." Sherlock said as he took it out from the cart. "Watercress is better and less crunchier. The wilted leaves will help Clyde munch the vegetable better. And the whole thing is edible." He said as he replaced the butter lettuce Watson took.

Watson looked at him blankly. "Seriously, even the lettuce? Tell me, Sherlock, how bored were you really? What happened to observing mundane people do mundane stuff?"

Sherlock just absently shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just saying; if you want to feed Clyde lettuce, why not give him the best?"

"And since when have you been a lettuce connoisseur?" Watson asked, putting her hand on her hips.

Sherlock was about to answer when they heard someone giggle from behind. Apparently the volume of their banter was quite loud and the elder lady behind them appeared to have heard everything.

"Oh, I'm sorry to be rude. It's just that, it's weird to see people get worked up just because of a lettuce." She said good-naturedly.

"Yeah, tell that to him." Watson pointed her finger towards Sherlock.

"Just picking the best for Clyde." He said raising his hands up in defeat.

The old lady laughed. "You're just lucky that your child is willing to eat veggies. My grandson won't even touch his peas!"

Watson's face scrunched up in confusion and then the realization dawned on her. "Oh no, Clyde is -"

"Ah yes, our adorable 2 year-old loves them." Sherlock cut in while snaking an arm around Watson's waist at the same time. Watson looked up in confusion and Sherlock could feel her getting angry. Ah yes, his little Joan is indeed quite lovely when all fired up.

"Well, we better get going. Come along now dear," Sherlock said as he tried to push the cart at the same time stir Watson towards the cashier. "We wouldn't want Clyde to wait on us!"

The elder lady smiled and nodded her good bye and Watson managed to give her a polite smile before shoving Sherlock away.

"What was that about?" she demanded.

"It was the fastest way to shut you up. The old lady was right. We were arguing over the most inconsequential thing." He said with a smile.

"You're the one who started it!"

"Hush now Watson." He said as he laid out the items from the cart on the counter.

"Now, wasn't that fun?" Sherlock said as they went out the double doors of the supermarket after paying for their purchases.

"Which part? The part where you doubled the work load by returning my items or the part where you so-called observed people? Or wait! How about the part where we had a child?" Watson asked.

"Oh don't be so cross Watson, I just said the 'child thing' because it seemed appropriate. And of course I did. I observed how people would not find this activity tedious. When the person you go to the store with is someone you know and care about, it's something that could turn into a fun endeavor. You get to learn something new about the person and you get to spend time with them. You for instance, tend to choose based off preference than price practicality. This shows how considerate you are of the person you are buying the item for and how well you know said person."

Watson did not think of it like that. Who could blame her though? She spent the past hour trying not to be annoyed with Sherlock but after hearing it all from him, she had to admit, it was quite fun.

"Okay it was fun." She said finally giving in. And it was. Grocery shopping with Sherlock was definitely not boring.

"See? Now, hand me those bags _honey_, we wouldn't want your arms to be sore." Sherlock said in a sweet voice.

"Stop that!" Watson exclaimed. But she was laughing.

In their next grocery run, Sherlock made it a point to buy diapers just because they encountered the elder lady from before. "Keeping appearances." He reasoned out. But after a while, Watson figured out that he just liked the way the old lady assumed that they were a couple.


	5. Scrabble and a Broken Heater

**A/N:** And at last, we have reached the 5th chapter! I'm proud that I have reached this far. Most of my stories are left in a certain space in my laptop, unfinished, so this is a bit of milestone for me. Haha. This chapter is for my friend Camille who's currently on her Doctor Who phase. So I hope she enjoys this despite that, cause heaven knows, she's in dire need of motivation in catching up with Elementary (on another note, she and my other friend Jill quite enjoys the fact that I'm catching up with my Doctor Who watching).

Anyway, I found this prompt lying around the blog of _imagineyourotp_, my never-ending source of fic prompts in tumblr. Enjoy!

**Scrabble and a Broken Heater**

* * *

The wind was howling outside and the heavy snowfall wasn't stopping. Watson turned on the TV to keep watch of the weather report. It seemed like they were having a blizzard. Not quite like the snow storm last year which was worse, this one was more forgiving. Watson was just worried Sherlock will be grumpy. The man doesn't want to be coped up in the brownstone without cases after all. Which reminded her, where was he anyway? She vaguely heard him doing things in the basement earlier when she was in the kitchen.

Curiosity got the better of her so she decided to go and check up on him.

"Sherlock?" she called down as she peered down the stairway of the basement.

"Just a moment!" she vaguely heard him call out.

"What are you up to? Is there something wrong?" she asked as she went down the stairs. She heard the sound of metal clattering on the floor and saw Sherlock bent over the heater.

He stood up and faced her, his face smothered with soot. "The heater's broken."

Watson followed Sherlock up the stairs as he went to the kitchen to wash up.

"You're kidding me. We have a blizzard coming and the heater's broken!" Watson sounded irritated.

"As much as I'd love this to be a laughing matter, Watson, no I am not kidding you. The heater is mucked up." He replied as he dried his face off with a towel.

"I just don't want to spend another uncomfortable cold storm." She reasoned out. She still remembered the snow storm from last year where they had no electricity in the brownstone. It was safe to say that she spent that night sleeping in a very cold bed.

"You said it was a blizzard, not a storm. There's a difference, you know. The winds of a -"

"I know what I said!" Watson huffed. "It's good that I prepared and bought the necessary items from the store in advance."

"Nice work Watson. Now, have you heard my phone ring when I was in the basement?"

"No."

"How about you? Received any interesting calls from the department?"

"No, nothing really."

"Well, this is starting to get alarmingly tedious."

* * *

As the day progressed, the two consulting detectives found themselves cooped up in the study. The snow continued falling outside keeping them from going out.

"Sherlock." Watson said under her blankets. She was huddled up in the sofa, feeling the warmth left in her cup of tea with her hands. "Can we at least use the fireplace?"

"I'm afraid not Watson. I simply cannot move my experiment from the fireplace." Sherlock answered from the desk.

Watson scoffed in disbelief. "Really? Some golf balls and muriatic acid is much more important than getting warm?"

"It will defeat the whole purpose of my experiment." Sherlock reasoned out. Watson murmured something incoherent and sunk down to her blankets.

"Would it help alleviate your bad mood if I make you a fresh cup of tea?" he offered. She held out her cup. Sherlock took it and went to the kitchen.

Watson was cold. She was wearing her thickest coat and under that, several layers of shirts and sweaters were worn. She decided to distract herself from the cold and reached out to her laptop that was currently plugged in when the lights went out. Darkness filled the space.

"Electricity's out." She said aloud as she went to the windows to check the neighboring buildings. Their whole street has gone dark.

Sherlock returned and laid out the tray in a coffee table.

"Watson, we have a dilemma." He said as he sat on the ottoman in front of the couch.

Watson looked up and saw worry etched across his distinctive facial features.

"I'm bored." He said.

* * *

Watson found what she was looking for in her bedroom and ran down the stairs towards the study where Sherlock was waiting. The moment Watson heard that Sherlock was bored she knew that he would get cranky. So she suggested reading cold cases or continuing his experiments but he said he needed to do something new. Watson was really lost and can't think of anything else so she's crossing her fingers that Sherlock would just go with what she's planning.

She laid out the box at the coffee table along with a book beside it.

Sherlock eyed the board game and the dictionary. "Scrabble. Really Watson? Board games are as dull as dishwater." He exclaimed.

"You wanted something new, here it is. Now, if you don't want to play, that's fine by me." she shrugged.

Sherlock seemed to think it over before saying, "If you were thinking about playing word games, you should have opted for boggle instead. It's more challenging."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "That's all I had. Are we going to play or not?"

Sherlock was leading in the game with 108 points and Watson, not far with 90 points. So far, the two were enjoying the game until the time Sherlock put down the word "grotty" which put the game in a standstill.

"Grotty is not a word!"

"I am most positive that it is."

"It's not in the dictionary."

"It's the dictionary for American English, Watson. I can see how this does not play well for me. Grotty means unpleasant or something disgusting."

"Okay whatever, put it down." Watson gave in, clearly in no mood for arguing. Sherlock won in the end. Watson was putting the game away when Sherlock suddenly got hold of her hands.

"You're cold."

"No, I'm feeling quite hot actually."

Sherlock ignored Watson's sarcastic remark and started rubbing his hands against hers, occasionally blowing on it to keep it warm. Watson couldn't help the blush creeping up her cheeks. Good thing it was dark.

"I'm fine now Sherlock." She withdrew her hands from his and continued putting the board game away. She went back to her room to return it to her closet and took the time to compose herself. When she went back to the study room, she saw Sherlock on the sofa, arranging the pillows.

"What - "

"Since it's especially cold tonight I think we should just sleep here." When Sherlock heard no response from her, he continued, "Don't you think it's efficient if we utilize our body warmth?"

Watson looked at him with doubt.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ravish you if that's what you're concerned about. I'm just saying, I don't want to wake up to find a housemate who's frozen." Sherlock sat at one corner of the sofa and stretched his legs out. He then grabbed Watson's arm and pulled her towards him. Her back was against his chest and she started to revel at the warmth his body is emitting as he draped the blankets over them.

"Comfy?" he asked quietly as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes." She admitted.

"Good. Now, sleep. We have a lot of plowing to do tomorrow."

Watson woke up to the smell of tea.

"Ah, good. You're awake! It turned out that the blizzard hasn't stopped. We're still stuck. Electricity's still dead." Sherlock said as he handed him her tea.

"Thanks." She said. She stretched out her arms, fighting another yawn when she saw the fireplace crackling with fire.

"What happened to your experiment?" she asked.

"It turned out great!" Sherlock smiled and Watson had the suspicion that they weren't talking about the same thing. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to question him about it. Besides, he did spill out his true intentions and what his experiment really was as they spent another cold, snowy night talking and cuddling in the sofa.

* * *

**A/N:** What am I doing? I'm writing too much fluff. That aside, the next chapter will be the final chapter! I'll upload it soon!


	6. Can't Read Me

**A/N**: And we have reached the last story! I did consider writing more but I need to work on my other stories. DON'T WORRY though! I still have a chapter left to upload for this story collection (a continuation/companion story of chapter 4: Grocery Shopping) mainly because I appreciate you guys (and I couldn't help it). So anyway, this story is something I need to write about because I have this image on my head with the gang just hanging out. I don't play poker much but I have played it before and know some stuff so pardon me if I made some inconsistencies concerning it. That aside...

**Can't Read Me**

* * *

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for Detective Bell's call. The said detective was looking at his cards with a great effort of trying to look passive, but seriously, one look and you could read that he has a high card and a low card. Probably, both are of different suits because Bell's face lightly scrunched up when he saw it. Sherlock looked at the other people in the table. The captain and Watson are very well engrossed with their own cards, missing Bell's display of dead giveaway.

"Would you hurry it up Detective? I'm pretty sure the chances of achieving a hand greater than a two pair are non-existent. I suggest you fold." Sherlock said as he idly toyed with his poker chips.

Detective Bell answered by giving him a glare. "I don't think it's actually called poker if you kept on voicing out your opponents' game play and tactic."

"Oh, you were playing with a tactic?" Sherlock asked innocently and Bell just gave him a snort.

"Shut up Sherlock and just play the game properly." Watson scolded him while the captain just cleared his throat.

Joan has invited the captain and Detective Bell for dinner after they dropped by their place to relay the information personally that their case was closed. She decided to invite them in considering that it has been a busy week. Sherlock did not argue with her as she was the one who did the cooking. She reasoned out to him that they need to "loosen up". Although it was true that they did have a busy week - having solved two cases - Sherlock did not see the point of "loosening up", whatever that means. He just wanted to spend the night in silence, recollecting his thoughts. Play his memory game or perhaps, clean out the fridge.

But he did not want to go into another argument with Watson so he just let her did what she wanted. Besides, it wasn't as if the captain and Detective Bell were not welcome in their house. On contrary, he enjoys the presence of his _co-workers_. So after having dinner, that was how he found himself in the study, playing poker with his partner and guests.

As they continued playing, Sherlock's pot kept on increasing. He was winning through his 'reading' abilities. Not long after, Detective Bell lost all his chips after betting it all in with only a straight hand. The captain took all Bell's chips with a flush.

"Luck is definitely not on my side today." Bell stated as he got hold of the deck of cards and started shuffling them. As the first loser, he became the default dealer (after taking turns with dealing).

"There is no such thing as luck. It's something people believe in to reassure themselves, which is highly stupid as they give themselves a pretense of confidence in actually winning." Sherlock responded a-matter-of-fact.

"There he goes again." The captain muttered under his breath which apparently was heard by Watson who laughed and was joined by Bell.

"Oh, mock me all you want but the way to winning poker is reading people. Which, not to be boasting, I'm pretty good at."

"Yeah, yeah. We get it." Detective Bell said, resigned.

And so, the game progressed. Sherlock took hold of the captain's remaining chips after he was dealt two low cards. Whatever hand he was planning on achieving certainly backfired as he bluffed and bet all his chips, an act which Sherlock already read so he took the bait. Watson, being a crafty player that she is, followed suit knowing that whatever move Sherlock made was a sure winning move.

"Now this is interesting." The captain said leaning towards the table.

"NYPD's finest consultants at it. Who's better?" Detective Bell said gamely.

Sherlock scoffed, "You are seriously not asking that question. The teacher of course, the apprentice just learns from mistakes."

"We'll see about that." Watson simply said with a smirk.

Bell began shuffling the deck and handed over their cards. Sherlock looked at Watson as she took a peek on her cards. Ever so plainly, her face gave away nothing. _Interesting._ Sherlock thought. He was busy besting the captain and Detective Bell out of the game that he hadn't taken note of Watson's game play. _This makes the game more entertaining._

He took a look at his card with a straight face. Ace of clubs and three of clubs. Sherlock made a mental note. He has chances of going in for a flush and straight flush and only if the odds were in his favor. He tapped the table twice. Watson also checked.

When the flop came, Sherlock was feeling good with himself. He looked up at Watson and tried to read her move. Watson equally returned the stare passively. Sherlock just checked while Watson decided to make the game more interesting by raising the ante. She threw in five chips in the pile and relaxed back on her chair.

"Your call, Sherlock." She said with a smug face.

_The nerve of the woman_. Sherlock thought. But, ever the competitive one, he decided to go with it, pride and all.

But then the tables were turned. Watson won with a full house and Sherlock fell behind because of merely having a flush. Detective Bell and the captain's laughter filled the room and Watson gave Sherlock a haughty look.

"Getting wary?" she inquired.

"Not a chance. Just giving you a head start to make the game fairer." He shrugged.

She let out an unladylike snort. "If you like to call it that."

Bell gave them their cards and the next rounded started. Sherlock made the calmest expression he could. Watson did the same. When the flop was revealed, Sherlock raised the bet. He chanced a look at Watson and saw her mouth turn down for a quick while then turned to a straight line. Sherlock smiled to himself. He caught her.

Watson bit her lower lip. She was clearly in distress. When she caught him surveying her, she steeled herself and assumed a poker face. She took a breath then shoved all her chips in the betting pile.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose in puzzlement. Clearly she's bluffing. How could she bet all her chips when she has no winning cards? He was positive that she knew he caught her. So what's the point of calling it all in? Or, she could have missed his assessment earlier.

He looked up at her and tried to read her face. Her piercing, black eyes feathered by her long eyelashes gave nothing away. He slowly assessed her from her eyes, to her sharp nose, not missing the freckles that rained on her face daintily, then to her pink lips that looked soft and delicate. Her face said nothing.

Nothing. Sherlock has just found out that he can't read this woman in front of him. The one woman who, everybody would think, he knew very well considering their living arrangement. The one woman who was always by his side, whom he thought he knew everything about but clearly quite the contrary. The minute he thinks he figured her all out, she just gives him a new mystery to solve about her.

Sherlock was brought back from his thoughts with the captain clearing his throat.

"What?" he asked distractedly.

"You were staring." Bell said amused.

"I was merely reading Watson's face." He pouted, embarrassed that he was caught.

"So," Watson leaned in with a grin. "calling it?"

"Definitely." And with that, Sherlock bet all his chips.

Watson won in the end.

* * *

As Sherlock closed the door after saying their goodbyes to their visitors, Watson couldn't help but rub her winnings in his face. She was clearly enjoying his defeat.

With an irritated look, he said, "Oh please Watson. You merely won out of luck."

"Oh really?" she put a hand on her hips. "Says the person who doesn't believe in luck."

"Please. I just deduced wrong earlier which is a rarity. I gave you a break."

"Right. Just admit it Sherlock. You're a sour loser." Watson rolled her eyes.

"I am not! You distracted me with your feminine wiles and physical features!" he exclaimed.

Watson was silent for a while before saying, "I didn't do anything!"

Sherlock scoffed at that. "Really. Because you clearly were playing me to my disadvantage."

"If I'm being accused of doing something, I was just bluffing and frankly, it was part of the game, the very essence of a poker game, in fact. I can't even believe you fell for it. You, Sherlock Holmes fell for my bluffing skills!" She said with brows furrowed. Not with annoyance but with mirth.

Sherlock gave her a look that clearly meant he wasn't amused.

"Oh dear Sherlock don't be so cross! Just do accept the fact that you're not the only one who's a '_deductionist_'." Watson said with a British accent. "And that a teacher, can also be taught by the apprentice." She patted his shoulder in mock reassurance then went up the stairs.

Sherlock sighed. She was right. He has to give her points for that. Proving him wrong was a pretty hard thing to do. For mostly, Sherlock prided himself in always being the right one. He chuckled lightly and shook his head. He was about to go up the stairs to catch up on his sleeping when Watson called out.

"Don't forget to wash the dishes! It's part of the deal."

Sherlock grumbled something incoherent. Ah yes, the deal. As the loser, he was ordered around by the victor. Something they agreed on when only the two of them were left during the game.

When he finished cleaning up, he passed by Watson's room and saw her using her laptop.

"As you must know Watson, I hate losing. So, be prepared to be thwarted the next time we play the game, yes?"

"I'll take you up on it."


End file.
